


Sinning Thrice

by Alopex (orphan_account), andouilles (orphan_account)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, BDSM, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Death, Depravity Falls, Dissociation, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Horror, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Murder, NSFW, Self-Harm, Smut, Violence, satanic rituals, unreality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:39:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3689151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Alopex, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/andouilles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of “Not What He Seems,” Dipper’s sense of betrayal by his family and friends leaves him isolated and on a self-destructive path. After he was rescued from a near-death experience, Dipper finds himself in debt to Bill Cipher, but the demon’s demands are far more than what he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Little Place Called Trust

**Author's Note:**

> ｙｏｕ ｗｉｌｌ ｂｅｌｏｎｇ ｔｏ ｍｅ  
> ｂｏｄｙ ａｎｄ ｓｏｕｌ  
> ｓｐｉｒｉｔ ａｎｄ ｍｉｎｄ  
> \----------  
> CHAPTER SPECIFIC TRIGGERS: nsfw, rituals, knifeplay/bloodplay, bdsm (caning), masturbation.  
> All characters are aged up.
> 
> We are a little sorry (except not at all).

The milky way swirls across the sky on its slow path like a sprawling mobile of stars and planets, lulling the creaking forests of Oregon to sleep. The crickets are chirping softly, the pine trees brushing against each other from the cool night breeze. The world is calm, but a faint, if unsettling, amber glow comes from a triangular window on the second floor of Gravity Fall’s number one tourist attraction. Though once a welcoming place, the grounds are now run-down, dust lining the aging porch. Even insects are wary of coming too close to the wooden structure, fearful of the nature of one of its current inhabitants.

In here, the sounds of uneven breathing, gasps, and stifled moans fill the air. Underneath the pleasured noises is a faint whispering, a convincing voice murmuring what must have been sweet nothings. Solely lit by soft candlelight, the room casts two prominent shadows onto the wall. The bulkier shadow was on his knees, hunched over, his arm moving up and down in a jittery motion, while the other was behind him, leaning over the first man’s back.

One of these men was Dipper Pines.

Dipper Pines found himself in a state he wouldn’t have ever imagined being in just a few months ago.

Vigorously, he moves his hand up and down the length of his painfully swollen cock, panting with each and every miniscule movement he made. Choking on his own moans, he slows down for a moment, rolling his hips into his hand, letting out what sounds more like a groan of pain as he pauses touching himself. Sweat rolls down his temple and he bites his lower lip. Dipper was trying to endure the stinging sensation that was currently throbbing in his back.

Dipper’s thoughts were clouded, as if he was thinking about so much at once that he couldn’t hone in on a single idea, couldn’t try to logically process the situation he found himself in. All he knew was that he didn’t regret anything; he enjoyed it despite knowing how demented he was for doing so.

The air grows silent again; even the crickets outside stopped chirping.

“I didn’t ask you to slow down,” murmurs the slimmer shadow.

The other man could hardly be considered a person, but nevertheless had a name and a body.

Bill Cipher was proud he could call his vessel his own. It took a long, painstaking process to acquire it, but he relished its existence, and he relished the state he was in. After all, it was all thanks to the man in front of him.

He hums delightedly as Dipper starts moving his hand again, a full-body shiver pulsing through the brunet’s core. It seemed counterintuitive to make the man move around so much, especially given that Bill didn’t have the steadiest hand, but that was only half of the fun.

“Oops, my hand slipped again. Guess I’ll have to retrace that one,” he cackles.

After wiping off the dripping blade on an ornate golden handkerchief, he presses the tip in for another incision, just millimeters away from a previous cut. Blood is dripping down from the wounds, pooling on the wooden floor. Bill grins as he imagines the room in the morning light, rusty stains amidst puddles of candle wax, subtle symbols of his presence. And the centerpiece - Dipper’s fatigued, used body, passed out in the middle of the floor, columns of binding runes running down his back. He enjoyed marking things as his own: people, objects, rooms - what was his was _his_ , and he needed that to be known.

“I’m s-sorry,” Dipper gasps out, his voice shaking. Bill had always possessed a sick flavor of humor, if it could even be called such, but even that aspect of him had gotten progressively more twisted in the last few months, along with a number of his other unsavory traits.

When Dipper resumes stroking himself, he lurches forward again, curling in on his stomach the closer he got to coming. Dipper’s thoughts started to finally become coherent again, although that wasn’t exactly a good thing. No, he didn’t want to think about what he was doing, or _why_ he was doing it.

 _After this, you’re going to belong to him_ , Dipper contemplates, a constricting feeling of panic tightening in his gut.

 _No, you’ve already belonged to him. For a long time, now. This just makes it official._ Bill already exerted so much power over him that this wouldn’t be that big of a change.

A foreign, but not unfamiliar voice forces its way into Dipper’s mind. _That’s right, Pine Tree._

Dipper thrusts into his hand with one final uneven jerk forward, a string of cum shooting from the tip of his cock. A bit of the fluid drips onto the floor in the aftermath of Dipper finishing. Lightheaded from both reaching orgasm and blood loss, Dipper waivers a bit, struggling to keep his body in an upright position.

Bill tenses, only midway through one of his cuts. He sets the blade down to the side, hand traveling up to grip Dipper's shoulder, making sure his nails are sinking into his flesh.

"Did I say you could come?" he spits through gritted teeth.

“N-no,” Dipper replies, his voice quivering. He stiffens beneath Bill’s vice-like grip, as he knew what would happen when he disobeyed Bill.

It equally scared and excited him.

“Then why did you?” Bill’s grasp tightened enough for blood to ooze out of nearby wounds.

Dipper tugs away from Bill’s hand (another fatal mistake). Shifting around on the wooden floors, he turns to face Bill, his eyebrows furrowing apologetically. Gulping down a heavy lump in his throat, he tries to speak confidently despite his voice feeling like it could only manifest in the tiniest of whispers.

“I j-just got lost in the moment is all,” he explains regretfully.

“Oh?” Bill breathes, raising his eyebrows in a bemused manner. He rises, pacing around Dipper in a circle as though Dipper was frightened prey. “Lost in the moment, huh?”

Once he was behind Dipper, Bill drops down on one knee, running both hands down the still-bleeding wounds as he inspected his handiwork. “Stay still,” he orders, grabbing the blade again.

Dipper holds his breath, not daring to exhale when Bill instructs him not to move. Despite remaining motionless, there’s a shiver that runs throughout Dipper’s body, a shakiness he couldn’t cease no matter the amount of willpower he possessed. It was part of who he was, just like the heavy bags under his eyes and the scars on his back.

Furrowing his brows in concentration, Bill proceeds to cut the final few runes into Dipper’s skin. After the last one, he leans back to finally admire his handiwork, licking his fingers where the blood got on them. Letting out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding, Bill presses against Dipper’s raw back as he wraps his arms around Dipper’s shoulders. The demon could feel his crisp, cotton button-down dampen, staining irreversibly crimson. Well, it was one way to get a red shirt without buying one.

Bill’s lips are but a breath away from Dipper’s ear. “I knew you enjoyed spending time with me, but I didn’t realize you were that into it. It’s endearing.”

Dipper manages a shaky smile, letting out a sigh of relief. Maybe Bill wasn’t as upset as he thought he would be. Leaning into the embrace, he nudges against Bill’s arm, as if silently asking for more affection. Bill didn’t _do_ affection and most times Dipper didn’t _want_ his affection, but considering his current state he would do anything to feel a sliver of comfort.

“Still,” Bill’s voice gains a slight edge at Dipper’s response. “You disobeyed me. You’re very familiar with the repercussions by now, are you not?”

“Yes, b-but–”

“No exceptions!” Bill snarls; he held no patience for cockiness, not when they were abiding by his rules - and they were _always_ abiding by his rules. He rises quickly, stepping in front of Dipper to tower over him imposingly. Raising his hand, Bill summons a glowing cane, then prods the other with it, urging him to turn around, a tinge of pride sparking in his chest when the man complied soundlessly, not needing explicit instruction. He licks his chapped lips subconsciously as he eyes the still-healing marks of Dipper’s previous disobedience. The need for this was getting rarer, but what had to be done had to be done.

“Are you aware of what you’ve done wrong?”

Pressing his face against the floor, Dipper’s chest heaves up and down in preparation for the pain he was about to endure. The mere thought of what was coming, however, elicited a response of arousal from him as well.

“I’m aware,” he replies, nearly sounding excited in a twisted way.

“And how many lashes do you think you deserve?”

With a lopsided smirk, Dipper answers, his voice low and raspy.

“Whatever it takes to make the message sink in, I suppose,” Dipper says with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. Seeing Bill’s reactions to his defiance always pumped him full of adrenaline. Fear and arousal were starting to become emotions Dipper felt in unison, and he shamefully relished in them.

“Finding out on the go, huh? I like your style, kid,” Bill compliments as he raises the glowing cane. With a sharp _smack_ , the cane hits its target. Dipper winces when the wood hits his skin, a stinging sensation pulsing heavily underneath the irritated flesh. Yet, arousal bubbles in his lower stomach and a feeling of excitement kindles in his chest.

How had he become so fucked up?

“Count aloud, toots,” Bill instructs.

“One,” Dipper says strongly, his voice clear and concise. That would soon change.

Another smack echoes through the room.

“T-two,” Dipper’s voice shakes, but for some reason he couldn’t wipe the sick smirk off his face. It hurt so bad, but it felt _good._ Since when had pain been a thing he craved, something he lusted after so willingly? Anticipating the next strike, he lifts his backside into the air, offering it to Bill.

The demon recalls the first time he punished Dipper in such a manner; after a few hits (which were not even at full strength, if he may add!), Dipper had been reduced to a crumpled mess on the floor, begging for forgiveness. But now he showed no signs of wanting to stop, and only at the ninth strike did tears prick at his eyes. His little pet had come a long way.

Dipper was already fully aroused again, each hit only making him harder. Panting against the floor, Dipper pauses when it seemed like Bill had been satisfied. Rolling over onto his back, he looks up at the demon looming over him, his cock twitching slightly at the sight of the man. Spreading his legs ever so slightly, he submits himself to Bill wordlessly.

“P-permission to speak?” Dipper tested, knowing he was getting risky again. He was too far gone to care.

“Granted,” Bill responds.

“Will you touch me?” Dipper asks, his eyes half-lidded and lusty. It hurt to lay on his back, Bill’s carvings still fresh, bleeding wounds. Impatiently, he trails his hand down his abdomen, palming at his arousal absent-mindedly.

“Take care of it yourself, kid. You did a pretty good job earlier,” Bill scoffs, eyeing the splatters of cum on the floor. He leans forward on his cane, not taking his scrutinous eyes off of Dipper. What a demanding soul, asking for a treat just after his punishment. He really had to keep an eye on this one.

“Go on. It’s either this or nothing at all.”

While Bill had instructed Dipper on most of what was needed for the ritual, he had retained a piece of the process he was hoping Dipper would fulfill without being told. Eagerness and emotional intensity were crucial for it to work out right, and Bill was pleased to find both very present in Dipper’s thoughts as he skimmed his mind. Satisfaction flowed through Bill, but he maintained a cool demeanor, wanting Dipper’s response to come from within his own twisted needs.

With a pout, Dipper starts stroking himself again, going at it vigorously just to get it over with already. Dipper wanted _Bill_ to touch him because it would feel better; he didn’t want to make himself come again. Defiant thoughts pricked into Dipper’s mind, thoughts of giving Bill what he deserved, thoughts that made his arousal grow, thoughts that made him tip closer to finishing than he would have expected himself to.

Thoughts he shouldn’t have been thinking.

Bill, now looking almost bored, cocks his head to the side as he takes in Dipper’s concentrated expression, the man’s chest convulsing with quick breaths. While there was quite a sight in front of him, Dipper’s rebellious thoughts caused a quiet wrath to flare up in Bill’s chest.

 _Watch yourself_ , Bill warns, projecting directly into Dipper’s mind to chase out any stray ideas.

 _I can’t stop myself from what I’m thinking_ , Dipper interjected silently, his eyebrows furrowing as he jacked off, averting his eyes while he did so.

Even his thoughts weren’t safe, he knew this. Yet Dipper couldn’t rewire himself into being the perfect servant Bill wanted him to be, his willpower was far too strong for something like that. Bill had already broken him enough; he couldn’t imagine what much more would do to him. Closing his eyes tightly, he strokes himself to the thought of Bill writhing underneath him, begging for mercy.

He was so close, _so close_ to coming again. Dipper started moaning lowly, whispering what faintly sounded like Bill’s name.

The heels of his shoes clicking loudly, Bill strides over with easy steps before squatting next to the man. With a delicate finger (he found he had to use less and less force as time went on), he lifts Dipper’s chin up, making sure he held eye contact.

“What was that?” he murmurs. “Repeat that a little louder, if you will.”

“What was what?” Dipper breathed, trying to pretend he didn’t know what Bill was talking about. Staring into Bill’s pale golden eyes he could swear there was a slight glow to them. Bill looked absolutely sinister, yet that was arousing to Dipper; he got more and more turned on the more in danger he felt, the faster his heart beat. With a smirk, Dipper continues to pleasure himself, ignoring the demon looming over him.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what you were mumbling. Say it clearer,” Bill hisses.

“Say _please_ ,” Dipper retorted, knowing he was playing with fire.

Instantly enraged, Bill swings his arm, slapping Dipper across the cheek. He was wrong about not having to use force; Dipper was still the cocky bastard he had been from the start. With a low growl, Bill shoves him backwards, pinning the man’s wrists to his sides.

Biting his tongue in pain, Dipper flinches under Bill, bucking his hips up as he withstands the piercing stinging in his back. His cheek now tingled with a familiar pain, one that wiped the confident expression right off his face.

 _You think you’re hot stuff, huh?_ Bill seethes, thoughts echoing loudly within Dipper’s mind. He was very aware of how close Dipper was to finishing, but he wasn’t about to give him that just yet.

“No, I don’t,” Dipper responds, cringing from the echoing voice inside his head. Bill pinning him down to the floor elicited a positive response when it came to Dipper’s arousal, his heart thumped like beating drums in his ears. Rolling his hips up against Bill’s, he exhales with a husky moan.

Bill grunts through gritted teeth as Dipper’s cock rubs against his own. His own needs could wait; he wasn’t through with Dipper just yet.

“Come on, I was just kidding, yunno?” Dipper tried to choke out, hoping it was somewhat of a believable save. “You like jokes, don’t you?”

“Jokes? Not in the mood for ‘em tonight,” Bill scowls. “Don’t see how you are, either, seeing how it’s costing you. You’re in too delicate of a position to be making them, Pines.”

Letting go of one wrist, Bill runs a single finger in a slow line up Dipper’s cock, delighted with the way it twitches eagerly under his touch. His thumb glides up towards his tip, rubbing it in quick circles before dipping down to knead his frenulum.

“ _Yeeeesss_ ,” Dipper exhales, his stomach tightening from the teasing touch. A chorus of begging voices screamed in Dipper’s head, all of his thoughts finally focusing on one thing: Bill. All he wanted was Bill, all he needed was Bill, he would worship Bill if that meant he could come, he was going to come, he was so close.

But he couldn’t come, not yet, something, no, _someone_ needed to push him over the edge.

“Bill,” Dipper gasped breathily, “Bill,” he repeated, like that was the only word he knew.

 _That’s what I like to hear,_ Bill grins, licking his lips; Dipper was finally submitting in the way he needed him to. One hand slides over to hold down Dipper’s hip, the other reaching up to tug his head to the side by his hair, exposing the pale flesh of his neck. Without hesitating, he attacks it, biting into with sharp teeth, lapping at the scarlet droplets that bead on his neck. The coppery taste was nothing short of dessert.

 _Louder,_ he instructs, working away at his collarbone.

“Bill,” Dipper moans again, the name merely rasped out through pleasured noises. “Bill, _fuck_ , Bill!”

Oscillating his hips against Bill’s again he thinks of kissing him, wanting nothing more than the contact between them to be closed. His body shakes, begging to be ravished. Dipper doesn’t break eye contact with Bill and neither does Bill with him. His gaze was enough to give Dipper chilling goosebumps.

“Please,” he whines. Dipper didn’t know what he was asking for, but he wanted _something_.

“Your hand’s free, pal,” Bill chuckles, not wanting to cave into the man’s whining. Still, he found himself humored by the man's needy thoughts. His lips glide upwards to meet Dipper’s in a hungry kiss, tongue easily pushing into his mouth.

 _MINE._ The word reverberates through every corner of Dipper’s mind.

 _Yours_ , Dipper thinks, _I’m all yours_.

Dipper’s tongue swivels against Bill’s, his teeth grazing against his bottom lip hungrily. Quickly moving his hand up and down the length of his erection, Dipper moans loudly against Bill’s lips, his name still on the tip of his tongue. How had he fallen so far? When did he get so desperate, so obedient? His memories were clouded over with lust, as if being in that moment with Bill had been the start of his existence all along.

“Bill, hah, B-Bill!” Dipper thrusts up into his own hand, already knowing he was on the slippery slope down to his release.

Sensing that his prey was giving up on resistance, Bill indulges him, hands running down his sides, pulling at his hair, touching him in his most sensitive spots.

 _Go on, finish,_ Bill urges, tugging away to bite Dipper’s earlobes. _Scream my name. I want the whole town to hear what I do to you._

On command, Dipper moans Bill’s name as he achieves orgasm for the second time that night, unable to control himself from coming all over his hand and his lower abdomen. Laying there he looks up blankly at the ceiling, trying to gather his bearings. His temples were throbbing, he felt light from pleasure, and Dipper wanted nothing more than to pull Bill closer for one final kiss.

Dipper’s entire body was sore. He ached so hard it made him convulse; he was so fatigued that he wondered if he would be able to shower or even move to his bed. Maybe he would just sleep there on the floor. Maybe he really wouldn’t have a choice. As the last pangs of pain and pleasure faded, Dipper knew his soul was no longer his.

Hazily, he flickers his gaze up to look at the blond man hovering over him.

“Bill."

_Yes, Pine Tree?_

“I belong to you,” he sighs out dreamily, as if it was the highest privilege a person could have.

_That's right. You belong to me._


	2. These Things Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ｗａｔｃｈ ｙｏｕｒ ｓｔｅｐ  
> ｗａｔｃｈ ｙｏｕｒ ｂａｃｋ  
> ｌｅｓｔ ｔｈｅ ｓｈａｄｏｗｓ ｗｉｌｌ ａｔｔａｃｋ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER SPECIFIC TRIGGERS: satanic rituals, blood, horror.
> 
> We are getting increasingly more sorry (except not at all).

All he wanted was to be left alone.

Dipper didn’t care about what Mabel did, didn’t care what Stan said, didn’t listen to Wendy and Soos no matter how much they tried to coerce him into talking to them. It wouldn’t matter if he opened up; they could nod their heads and say all the sympathetic words they wanted, but it would still be the same.

He would be alone.

At first, loneliness was a crippling ailment. It felt suffocating, like he couldn’t breathe, like the emptiness in the air was trying to strangle him the longer and longer he sat in solitude. It seemed easy to say sorry, to tell Mabel and Grunkle Stan that he had been overreacting, that he had been immature to shut them out, but his trust had been broken, and there was still a hurt that stung deep inside of him. Nothing could undo what had been done.

So the years passed by.

Each summer visit to Gravity Falls was spent by himself, his communication with the others limited to only the most necessary interactions. Dipper thought of the possibility of not returning to Gravity Falls at all, but there was too much left unfinished there. Digging deeper and deeper into the magic of the town, he continued his research despite being urged to stop investigating the paranormal entities of Gravity Falls. Everyone told him that he was getting in too deep, that they were concerned for him. That they loved him.

Words weren’t enough to stop Dipper.

Though at first terribly lonesome, the woods became a sort of haven, a place he could retreat to when he grew sick of being coddled. Growing obsessed with the darker contents of the journals, he had started practicing what could only be described as “magic,” though it tended to be far more gruesome than the typical perception of sparks and pretty colors.

Dipper had done a few of the spells before during his first stay in Oregon and soon realized he had an aptitude towards magic. After all, what twelve-year-old could successfully raise the dead with such _ease_? What sort of kid had the ability to travel to paranormal dream dimensions, what sort of person could simply read a spell and make it _happen_ without much more exertion than a shrug? Not everyone could perform the rituals and spells inscribed within the thick books like he could, and Dipper clung to this fact.

Knowing that he had a special talent motivated him to improve it.

The summer after Dipper’s high school graduation was another typical vacation to Gravity Falls. Be forced to work for the Mystery Shack, lock himself in his room on his downtime. Not daring to mess with magic outside Gravity Falls (he wasn’t sure if could even use magic outside the town), he was eager to get back to his hobby. Schoolwork the last few years was dull, his relations with others were bridges burned long ago, but he could always find something new, something engaging about magic. Though he tried to stay away from it, the first thing he wanted to do when they made it to the sleepy city was finally try his hand at a summoning ritual.

Some were easy, but some were far more complex, at the promise of more power. Dipper wasn’t interested in power or summoning a demon for some huge purpose: he just wanted to see if he could do it. After all, if he pulled it off the being would be under his control. He could just say hello and ask it to leave. Simple.

Dipper knew better, honestly. He had seen summons go terribly wrong before. But somehow knowing this didn’t affect him, it merely tempted him further. This was more than merely summoning a demon – this was proving to himself he could, even if it was a form of self-destruction. Maybe he wanted to get hurt.

Maybe he just wanted to _feel_.

Rubbing his hands together in preparation, Dipper smirks a bit, silently admiring his handiwork.

Honestly, it looked like something straight out of some old horror flick. A carefully etched circle with strange symbols written in white chalk, featuring the stereotypical inverted pentagram in the center. Surrounding the circle were thick navy blue candles that flickered softly in the dim-lit attic. All that was left was an offering of the flesh.

Dipper could feel the buzz of dark magic radiating throughout the room, growing stronger as he completed each step of the ritual. The ever-present sense of being watched lingered in his thoughts, but he attributed it to his inert paranoia, something he’d lived with for at least a third of his life.

Kneeling down to consult the journal, Dipper runs his trembling fingers over the instructions, his breath getting caught in his throat when he moved on to the next step. Trailing his hand over to a kitchen knife that laid by his book, he grabs it by its wooden handle, his hand shaking as he did so. Holding out his open palm, he takes the knife and drags it across his skin, blood blossoming from the trail. Wincing at the sting and dragging his eyes away from the wound, Dipper squeezes his fingers into his palm, red splattering across the wood floors with a sickening series of _plips_.

A chilling breeze ruffles the nape of Dipper’s neck, causing the teen to flinch. The outer ring of chalk smokes and sizzles quietly as a whirlwind picks up, the cloud thickening to the point where Dipper started to cough. Hurriedly, Dipper wraps up his wounded hand with gauze, tying a tight knot as he anticipates what was to come, his hair whipping against his face.

 _This is it,_ Dipper thinks, _I did it!_

The warm light bathing the attic shifts to a chilling shade of blue, the flames of the candles now flickering azure against the whirring wind. Without warning, the gust dies down, the air growing completely static. The candles flicker once, then all simultaneously go out.

The only sound present is Dipper’s heart throbbing in his ears.

Dipper found himself surrounded by an all-encompassing silvery mist that flickered and swirled as if it were breathing. Wrapping his arms around himself, he rubs at his forearms - it felt like ice was pressed against his bare skin. Overlapping incomprehensible whispers flutter around his ears like gnats, until one pronounced voice speaks over the soft hisses.

_For what purpose have I been summoned?_

The wispy voice echoed throughout the room, the lilting whispers continuing even after the sentient being had spoken. Dipper gulps down a lump in his throat and his eyes dart around the room. Not seeing a physical entity to speak to unsettled him; it struck him with anxiety that made his heart tighten in his chest.

“Ah, well, you haven’t been summoned for _any_ purpose. Just a test. Y-you can go now,” Dipper finally responds, unable to shake the quiver from his voice.

The whispering voices ceased entirely and the room flooded with an eerie silence. Dipper held his breath. Had the demon left?

_Just a test? What an impolite way to treat a guest you invite into your home._

Shimmering strings of mist condensed around Dipper’s throat, and the teen found it increasingly hard to breathe. Unsure whether it was the fog or his rising panic, he could only stand there, paralyzed and slack-jawed, his clothes growing damp from sweat.

_You seem to like experiments, huh? Well, I have a few tests of my own I’d like to try._

A puff blew itself into Dipper’s face, forcing a few coughs out of him. A chilling sensation drags across his cheek as though someone stroked him with a cold piece of metal. If he was to guess, Dipper would say the entity caressed his cheek.

_Tell me, Dipper, what are you feeling right now? Be honest._

Backing up from the magic circle, Dipper stops when his back hits the wall. Unsure of whether to answer the demon or not, he stands in silence, trying to quickly think over what he should do. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to the creature – would it? It seemed like a simple enough question.

“Scared,” Dipper initially answers. He then pauses, and looks down at the floor, as if thinking over a second answer.

“Excited.”

_Oh? How wired you must be. Come back to my circle, child, soothe your tense shoulders._

Before Dipper could open up his mouth to respond he felt an overwhelming sense of relaxation overtake his body. Slumping against the wall, he slowly sinks to the floor, his arms hanging limply at his sides. Dipper felt as if he were heavy, like an anchor had tugged him down to the ground. Blinking slowly, he recognizes that he was starting to feel a sense of numbness.

It was as if he were growing complacent, as if nothing could bother him anymore. Dipper didn’t feel scared anymore, nor did he feel excited. He just...couldn’t _feel_. Knowing he should have been panicked over this idea, his stomach does a nervous flip when he couldn’t muster that reaction either. His heart pounded steadily in his chest despite feeling like it should have been beating rapidly.

 _What the hell is going on,_ Dipper thought, feeling very much trapped within his own body.

 _Do not concern yourself with what is going on,_ the voice purrs into his ear. _You are too high-strung. Let me ease you out of your troubled life._

_No, I don’t want to die!_

“You don’t have to, you know!” A flash of light cuts through the vapor, and a triangular form emerges, waving away the mist with his cane. “Good ol’ Pine Tree, ‘bout to be chopped down like a log. How’s it feel?”

The mist swirled protectively around Dipper, attempting to obscure him within its mass, but the newcomer was resilient, easily gliding towards the teen to hover uncomfortably close to his face.

Dipper had a lot to process: being slowly killed by a demon he summoned and having another demon (that he was all too familiar with) pop in for the hell of it? The sheer confusion of the situation seemed dreamlike – Dipper was starting to consider that it must have been a nightmare if Bill Cipher was in it.

The last thing Dipper wanted to do was ask Bill for help, but considering the deathly turn his situation had taken, he knew he would have to figure out a way out _somehow_. Planning was difficult considering how tired he felt, all his thoughts were half-formed fragments. Dipper knew from experience that asking Bill for help only ended in pain. Not to mention he _loathed_ Bill.

But Bill was currently his only option.

“How do I stop it?” Dipper drawls, his voice raspy, as if he were being pulled into the dregs of sleep. His eyelids felt heavy, but he feared the worst would happen if he closed them.

“ _You_ can’t stop it,” Bill replies, feigning mournfulness. “Looks like you’re done for.”

 _That’s right,_ the other entity spits. A strong wind is picking up, displacing loose papers and small objects within the room. _Leave, Cipher! This one is_ mine.

Bill ignores the raging demon, focusing intently on Dipper. Prodding the weakened teen with his cane, he continues. “Although, there is _something_ that can be done about your little ‘life’ situation.”

Blinking at Bill sluggishly, Dipper takes a few seconds before he can force himself to conjure up an answer. When he spoke, it felt like there was tar in his mouth.

“Tell me.”

“Think about it. Of the three of us in this room, who is the most capable in helping you right now? Oh, don’t bother talking – you can barely string words together. That rules you out. How ‘bout Smokey the Bear here?” Bill turns to face the fog, his thin arms on his hips.

_I’m warning you, Cipher, he summoned me, I get to exercise my will over him. Don’t interfere._

Bill turns back to Dipper. “Not any help either. Look, kid, you know the drill. I’ll scratch your back and you’ll scratch mine sometime down the line. Sound fair?”

Dipper knew better than to make deals with Bill. Dipper knew better than to make deals with Bill that didn’t specify what _sort_ of favor he would be doing. Then again, Dipper knew better than to perform demonic rituals listed in the journal, but he did them anyway. And now look where he was, about to die from some fog demon experiment gone wrong.

But what did he have to live for, anyways? He was a recluse, someone who cared less and less for others each passing day. Even paranormal research, the one thing that seemed to drive him, didn’t seem worth selling his soul to Bill over. What did he have but life itself?

His last thought stopped him. He didn’t know if there was a great beyond or if he would just vanish into the void for the rest of eternity, and the idea sent a terrified tremor through his mind. The fear was dizzying, and the will to survive overrode any consequences of associating with Bill. At least with the demon came the definitive promise of _something_ more, even if it was only a little bit more.

It was either die (somewhat) peacefully or make a deal with Bill and live on.

Dipper decided he wanted to live.

“ _Deal_ ,” he croaks out, his head drooping over lopsidedly.

Delighted, Bill swoops down to grab Dipper’s hand, engulfing nearly half his arm in cyan flames from excitement. Once the last few sparks vanished, Bill turned to face the other demon.

“You heard the kid, he wants you out. Now scram.”

The fog begins to roar, pummeling Bill in a flurry, but the dream demon was unfazed, starting a low, incomprehensible chant that quickly picked up in speed. Despite the entity’s vehement protests, Bill easily overpowers it, forcing it to retreat back into the circle. With each word, it seemed to dissipate into the air until with a final, foreboding howl and an empty threat, the smoke all but vanished from the room. Bill stopped his hymn, floating up to take in the overturned attic.

“Well, that’s that!” he stated. “I’ll be back for my favor in a bit. Until then, you sit tight, and don’t go doing any more stupid things like that!”

With a tip of his hat, the triangle vanished into thin air.

Dipper sat there dumbstruck, as if attempting to process what exactly had just occurred. It had all been so quick, trying to recall what had just happened to him mere minutes ago was a blur. Now able to move again, Dipper stands up, his knees creaking as he did so. Dipper felt stiff and sort of fatigued. Perhaps he could take a nap, but he was too scared to, as if the notion of falling asleep would mean his demise.

The entire summer was one filled with dread. Everyday Dipper feared for Bill’s return, hypothesized what he might ask for as a favor, spent his summer days in paranoia, much like he had as a child. But when the summer ended without a single sign from Bill, Dipper grew weary. What was he playing at? Honestly, it was just _annoying_. Dipper wanted to fulfill his favor and get on with his life. Trying to fathom what he might owe Bill, he bit his nails in absentminded anxiety and slept less and less each day.

But Bill never came, nor did he appear when Dipper went off to college. In fact, as the years went on, Dipper all but forgot about his agreement with Bill as he became absorbed with university life.

School came and went, and Dipper soon found himself back in the Mystery Shack as the permanent resident and official deed-holder. Technically, the Shack was under joint ownership by him and Mabel, but she was off elsewhere. Besides, their relationship only grew more strained with each passing year.

One glum, cold evening, Dipper found himself crashed in front of the television, one eye on the screen and the other glancing through the decaying pages of the journal. Another typical day, another typical night; his life had slowed down to an absolute crawl. He reached over to grab a handful of chips, when the bowl exploded right under his fingertips.

Dipper reels back, falling from the armchair in a painful lump on the floor. A few shards had sliced his hand, which was now stinging painfully. Warily glancing about the room, he attempts to attribute the explosion to some sort of cause, but with the exception of the flickering television, the shack was silent.

Picking himself back up, Dipper flops back onto the couch, letting out a heavy sigh. The house was probably starting to attract poltergeists; he’d have to look into that in the morning.

_A poltergeist? Don’t compare me to that low-class scum!_

Dipper’s heart nearly shot out of his chest as the room drained of its color in a wave, a familiar triangle appearing right in front before his eyes.

“Did ya miss me, Pine Tree?”


	3. Said the Spider to the Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ｃｏｍｅ ｉｎｓｉｄｅ ｎｏｗ， ｄｏｎ’ｔ ｂｅ ｓｈｙ  
> ｉ’ｍ ｊｕｓｔ ｙｏｕｒ ａｖｅｒａｇｅ ｆｒｉｅｎｄｌｙ ｇｕｙ  
> ｓａｉｄ ｔｈｅ ｓｐｉｄｅｒ ｔｏ ｔｈｅ ｆｌｙ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER SPECIFIC TRIGGERS: torture, coercion, manipulation, animated gif inside the fic (gif courtesy Alopex)

It was like being thrown off a cliff.

A literal demon of Dipper’s past appeared before him, leaving him awestruck, his mind reeling. A thick thumping pulses in his temples, which must have been due to the fact that he had started hyperventilating, adrenaline now coursing through his veins.

It had been _years_ since he had interacted with Bill Cipher – seven, to be exact. While Dipper would have liked to say he forgot about him, he never really did.

Whenever nightmares kept him up in the dead of night, the demon was always in the back of his thoughts, intensifying his anxiety which tugged him about like thrashing waves. Every creaking floorboard, every unnamed whisper, every chill that ran down his back reminded him of Bill. That fateful summer day had changed his life forever; the years he had spent apart from the demon were merely a calm in the storm.

Dipper didn’t know if he could force himself to speak. Instead, he stared silently at the triangular entity, glancing about the room with a blank expression. Everything was colorless; he _had_ to be in the Dreamscape. Even though this wasn’t the first time Bill Cipher forced him into sudden unconsciousness, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t unsettled by the change of scenery.

The last time he saw Bill, he was a young, (not so) innocent eighteen years old. He had also been on the verge of death due to a _very_ stupid decision he made. Messing with dark magic was enthralling and indulgent, but risky. Dipper was going to have to pay for playing with fire.

He was beginning to realize he may have sold his life away that day.

“What, cat got your tongue? Never seen a floating triangle before?” Bill chortled, taking a moment to brush dust off of his hat.

“What do you want, Bill?” Exasperated, Dipper’s brows furrow in annoyance. What sort of favor would Bill ask him for? It had to be something pretty huge. After all, he owed Bill his _life_.

Trying to suppress the nervousness that was boiling up in his stomach, he feigns confidence by holding himself upright in a stance that was meant to seem intimidating. Although Dipper was certainly stronger than he was as a teen, he had a feeling whatever muscle he gained over the years was still no match for a creature of Bill’s caliber.

“I’m here for my favor! I hope you haven’t forgotten about that,” Bill reminds him with unnerving cheeriness. He zooms down to hover in front of the man, circling around him to grab one of his arms and inspect it closely. “Oh, good, you’re not a scrawny noodle-child anymore. This’ll come in handy!”

Swatting at Bill like he was a fly, Dipper takes a step back from the demon, his lip furled up in disgust from the unwarranted contact. _God_ , he really hated that about Bill. Dipper could remember how touchy he had always been; he was never sure if it was a tactic of intimidation or if Bill did it just to make him uncomfortable. Maybe it was a little bit of both.

“No, I haven’t forgotten. Just,” Dipper paused, sighing through his nose, “thought _you_ might have forgotten.” Crossing his arms, he gives Bill a once over, then purses his lips into a straight line.

“I don’t forget anything!” Bill reminds him, a series of images from Dipper’s life flashing across his body.  
“What do you need? Let’s get this over with,” Dipper snaps back, already severely irritated with the dream demon.

“I need you to fetch something for me. You know I can’t intervene with your world from the Mindscape, so I need someone else to do it.”  Bill snaps his fingers, conjuring a small chalkboard, replacing his top hat with a graduation cap. With a wave, a simple illustration appears on the board, the images floating and changing along with Bill’s gestures.

“I can’t just hop into your world all willy nilly; I need to exchange the life-juice of an object in the physical plane with my power,” Bill explains, motioning at the chart.

“Law of conservation of energy and whatnot,” he adds under his breath; the mere thought of being limited by something as petty as physics left a bad taste in his metaphorical mouth. “Besides, you’ve got a knack for magic, which you’ll need. You bring me what I need, you do a little spell, it’s a pretty easy task!”

“Alright, so what, do you need a deer head or something? What’s it gonna be?” Dipper guessed that Bill would only request a few odd objects. After all, didn’t everything on Earth technically possess some amount of energy? It seemed pretty simple to Dipper; he supposed he wouldn’t have any trouble with the magical aspect of things. Bill was right; he had a natural inclination towards casting spells.

With a small _poof,_ the chalkboard vanishes and the graduation cap pops back into a top hat. Bill only laughs at Dipper’s guess, floating to the man’s side to lay a hand on his shoulder, “I like the way you’re thinking, but no, I need souls! Those are _full_ of energy, but the only way you can get those suckers is by ripping them out of their nasty meatbag vessels.”

Not moving at all now, Dipper glances at Bill in his peripheral vision. A cold sweat breaks out down his back.

“A soul? A _human_ soul?” Dipper stutters in disbelief. Panic starts welling up in his gut as if it were trying to burst from his stomach. Mind racing, Dipper tries to think of a way he may have misunderstood Bill. Maybe he meant “soles” like on shoes? No, no, that wouldn’t make any sense. There was no mistaking Bill’s request.

Bill squints delightedly. “Yep, you’re catching on!”

“What do you need souls for?” Dipper inquires, putting his hands on his hips. Squinting his eyes at Bill skeptically, he tries to muster what courage he had left to get answers out of Bill. Nothing good could come from whatever Bill might have been planning.

Bill rubs his eye impatiently. “I already told you, don’t you listen? Constant exchange of energy across two systems! Open up a physics book if you’re that dumb.”

About twenty college-level textbooks materialize above Dipper, crashing down on top of him and knocking him to the ground.

Gathering his bearings from suddenly being knocked to the floor, Dipper writhes on the ground for a moment before picking himself back up. Despite being in the Mindscape, the pain he had just experienced was very real. For a moment, Dipper thinks back to his first encounter with Bill, when the demon had jokingly shot a hole through his stomach. That had been completely painless despite how grotesque it looked. Had Bill been going easy on him back then?

Bill chuckles darkly as he vaporizes the books. “That was an example of gravity, in case you were wondering.”

“Yeah, I’m aware, thanks,” Dippers spits out venomously. Not taking his eyes off of Bill, he stands back up, brushing himself off with an exasperated sigh. Worry begins to creep into his thoughts as he tries to imagine what exactly Bill wanted him to do.

“What did you mean by ‘get rid of’? How am I supposed to do that? What do you need that energy for? What are you trying to do with them?” His words run into each other like train carts crashing, his lips dry from trying to speak without breathing. Dipper’s mind felt hazy, like he was disconnected from reality, like he was in a nightmare.

And technically, he was.

“Kid, kid! Slow down, you’re gonna hurt yourself. Not that that’s a bad thing,” Bill adds. “Obviously, you rid the soul from the body with a sharp or blunt object! I’ll even let you pick which one!”

Backing away from Bill as if had burst into flames, Dipper shakes his head defiantly; the mere suggestion of seriously injuring a stranger made him sick. No way, there was _no way_ he would kill someone for Bill! Taking an innocent person’s life wouldn’t be worth it, not even to pay off his debt to the demon.

“Find yourself someone else, you’re _crazy_ if you think I’m gonna do that, man!” Dipper shouts, steadily increasing his distance from Bill. Despite being a recluse and isolating himself from people, by no means did he _hate_ people. A strong sense of moral values had always been present in Dipper, even when he was experimenting with darker magic. Killing people was _wrong_. That was all there was to it. It wasn’t up for debate.

Without warning, Dipper’s body convulses as though he was struck by lightning, his skin burning like it was going to peel off. Dropping down to knees with a loud thud, he shuts his eyes, screaming in agony from the sudden shock to his system. Dipper couldn’t even pinpoint a general location of the pain; it felt like his entire being was set ablaze. His bones felt as though they were simultaneously crushed and ripped apart, while his blood boils in his arteries. Just when he thought the excruciating pain was about to cease, it starts up all over again, but with a higher intensity than before. Dipper tries to catch his breath, a head-splitting migraine beating at the base of his skull. By this point he was dry-heaving, desperately trying not to puke. It had been a mere minute since Bill inflicted the torment upon him, but it felt like hours.

The pain left all at once, but the residual sensation remained in the form of an awful soreness. Dipper felt like he had just ran a marathon; he was exhausted.

Gliding over to the fallen man, Bill wrenches his face up by the chin, staring him straight in the eyes, his voice thundering throughout the room. “Don’t forget it, kid; you _owe_ me.”

His gaze seems to soften as he continues in a quieter voice. “Besides, what have people done for you? All they do is lie to you, betray you, leave you all alone. Look at yourself, cooped up in a dilapidated hut, unwashed, uncared for. _They_ did that to you.”

Quivering from the lasting effect of the torture, Dipper trembles and grits his teeth, baring his fangs. Without lifting a finger, Bill was able to inflict the most excruciating pain he had ever felt.

Dipper had a feeling that if he didn't comply, Bill would do a lot worse.

But it was in Dipper’s blood to keep fighting, even if it killed him.

"Don't try and persuade me into thinking that killing people is okay. Just because I've been wronged before doesn't mean some innocent person deserves to _die_!" Dipper growls, slowly rising back up to his feet, legs wobbling as if he was a newborn animal.

Clutching onto the arm of the living-room recliner for support, he straightens himself out, wincing slightly. Bill couldn't have his way, not this time.

 _So much resistance,_ Bill thinks to himself, observing Dipper with what could be interpreted as a smirk (given his limited features). _I’m going to have to break that nasty habit of his._

“Alright, fine, I won’t try to convince you. Murder is bad, ethics are important, and morality is of utmost value to society. However,” Bill pauses to hover down towards Dipper, poking him in the chest. By reflex, Dipper flinches away from his touch.

“You still owe me a favor. Your pointless human fallacies of compassion mean nothing to me! You’ll do as I tell you, kid. You’re in no position to bargain!” Bill jabs Dipper square in the ribs, this time sending another, albeit less intense, jolt of pain through him.

Twitching from the shock to his core, Dipper inhales sharply and looks at Bill with a rather worried expression. If he decided not to comply, Bill would surely kill him, or even worse, keep him alive and _torture_ him. What if he actually followed Bill’s orders? The thought made him sick, but perhaps there was a morally-sound way to complete the task he was being presented with. Dipper could get it over with quickly and never think of it again. Maybe he could kill a criminal, someone who _deserved_ to die, or someone who was already on their way out. Bill claimed to know everyone’s fate, surely he would be able to point him towards someone already on their deathbed!

“W-what if,” Dipper pauses to gather his bearings, his voice still trembling as an after-effect of the electricity running through his veins, “What if I get caught?”

The thought of being thrown in jail for life makes Dipper’s gut churn sickeningly. He hadn’t felt so much anxiety since he was a kid, and now it was all hitting him like a brick to the head. A sudden panic attack was welling up in his stomach, threatening to force its way out any moment. Dipper couldn’t believe he was actually considering killing a complete stranger to fulfill his end of a deal. If his thoughts got anymore over-analytical he would probably give himself a brain aneurysm.

Bill’s reasoning must have been a soul for a soul, right? Bill saved his life, so now he had to pay him with another. As gruesome as it was, Dipper had to admit, it was _fair_.

“Just one, right? Then I’m done?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever, kid,” Bill waves him off, ignoring the man’s rising panic. The demon could never understand why humans were so keen on the preservation of life; so what if their lifespans got cut short by forty, fifty years? Their existence was so fleeting and insignificant in the grand scheme that it didn’t matter whether they made it to their twenties or eighties. Now a creature like him, whose age was endless and whose influence extended to multiple dimensions, surely had more importance than a few lumps of tissue and blood!

However, one of these lumps was having a lot of trouble cooperating, and as much as he hates to admit it, Bill needs his help. Besides, a deal was a deal, and the kid was legally obliged by the laws of at least six macrocosms to assist him.

Bill turns his attention back to Dipper, who looks he’s about to vomit. “Look, kid, you’re not gonna get caught, you’re too useful for me. Besides, if the police get too close to finding out the truth, you can always take care of them, too! Isn’t that convenient?”

“No, no, no. I can’t kill a police officer, they have guns, there’s no way I could kill one,” Dipper corrects, sounding surprised with himself for even _thinking_ about killing an authority figure. Casually talking about planning a person’s murder was uncomfortable enough; he didn’t want to think of killing _multiple_ people.

Dipper’s thoughts run haywire as he desperately attempts to console himself. Plopping down into the decrepit chair in the living room, he sits forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers interlaced, leg bouncing restlessly up and down.

_Alright Dipper, think about what’s going to be the most humane. Poison? Yeah, poison. Just find someone and poison them. Then you’re done. You won’t have to chop anyone up that way. They’ll just go to sleep for a long time. That’s death, right? Just sleeping for a long time. This won’t be that hard._

“No,” Bill pipes up.

“What?” Dipper looks at Bill with a confused blink, surprised by the sudden interjection. With a jolt of recognition, he realizes Bill had been reading his thoughts the entire time.

“Poisoned souls are weaker, ya gotta slice ‘em clean outta the body. Then you’ll probably have to hide it, so you’ll have to chop it to pieces anyways. Save yourself the effort!” Bill explains.

“Woah, woah, woah, _wait_. Chop up? I have to _chop_ someone up?”

This situation was far worse than what Dipper had bargained for.

“No shit, Sherlock, of course you have to cut up the body.” As Bill delves into the intricacies of what Dipper has to do, the man gets progressively paler, clutching his hand over his mouth.

Burying his head in his hands, Dipper doesn’t speak, but merely tries his best to suppress the shakiness in his breath. He was already mourning the victim that was to die at his hands, whoever it may be. They would not be killed with sympathy. No, Bill was forcing him to not only murder another man in cold blood, but to also disassemble them limb from limb. They would be a sacrifice, an _offering_ to one of the most twisted beings in existence.

“Aw, come on, Pine Tree,” Bill coos, wrapping an arm around Dipper’s shoulder. “It’s not gonna be _that_ bad.”

The demon was less than pleased with Dipper’s current attitude and was quickly starting to lose patience with the man. Sure, he could have gone the long route, carefully manipulating Dipper into doing what he wanted him to do, but a deal was a deal, and he planned to take as much advantage over him as possible. Dipper beat him once in the past, so naturally Bill must conquer him for the rest of his life.

Besides, breaking things is a _lot_ more fun than taking care of them.

“Well, Pine Tree, see ya tomorrow!” Bill states before popping out of existence with a cheery tip of his hat.

As the color drains back into the room, Dipper leans back into the armchair, staring vacantly at the wall in front of him as he dreads the act he will be forced to commit.


	4. I Did a Terrible Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Flesh of flesh, to make your vessel,_   
>  _Soul for soul, to hold you here._   
>  _Make this earth your royal palace: hear my prayer and appear!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER SPECIFIC TRIGGERS: very graphic/descriptive depictions of violence/murder/gore, emetophobia (just one sentence), rape mention (not regarding either Dipper or Bill), dissociation

A fluorescent light buzzes in the dimly lit bathroom, occasionally flickering as if it were struggling to stay lit. Hands resting on either side of the yellow-stained sink, Dipper gazes at his reflection through the dust-coated mirror, lewd graffiti forming a decorative frame on the wall around the glass. The rusty faucet was dripping, its steady rhythm the only thing grounding him. Though the mixed stench of mold and chlorine was overpowering, it wasn’t as sickening as the thought of Dipper’s upcoming task. Tonight was the night. The heavy purplish-gray bags under his eyes droop deeply, longing for sleep. Dipper turns the sink’s squeaky faucet to the side, ducking his head down to splash water onto his face. When he stands back up straight, his reflection is joined by another figure.

Through the mirror, Dipper warily eyes the triangular shadow looming on the wall behind him. It tilts to the side, as though coyly observing the man.

_Why so glum, kiddo? Tonight’s gonna be fun!_

Dipper doesn’t respond, merely grimaces and rips a paper towel from the broken dispenser by the sink. As he wipes off his dripping hands, he stares at the wall, his mind completely void of thought. There was nothing to say to Bill. There was nothing he could even say to himself.

There was nothing he wanted more than to get it all over with.

Bill was growing frustrated with Dipper’s lack of initiative. _Pine Tree, your kind_ evolved _to kill, it’s in your nature. Follow your instincts, fight your way to the top of the food chain, kid! Don’t hold back._

Dipper’s silence continues, even his thoughts were void. There’s a seething hatred in his gaze, a look that expresses the entirety of how he felt towards the demon. He wasn’t a killer, wasn’t a _monster_ like Bill. This wasn’t something he was doing by choice. Bill was holding a metaphorical gun to his head: it was kill or be killed. Actually, no, it was kill or be _tortured_. Dipper had to uphold his end of the bargain or he would pay in _other_ ways – he knew the demon would never let him off that easy. Imagining the pain Bill inflicted on him in his nightmares made him involuntarily twitch; he didn’t know how long he could handle such an excruciating punishment.

As he exits the bathroom into the musky, amber-lit bar, Dipper runs his hands through his tangled curly hair, surveying the various patrons of the restaurant. Beginning to scope out the clientele of the bar, he looks for a potential victim (as Bill had instructed him to do earlier). Leaning against the wall, Dipper puts his hands into his pockets, trying to ignore the sound of his heart hammering deafeningly in his ears.

Dipper had spent the last twenty four hours in paralyzing anxiety. His head had throbbed with a hazy panic that made him feel like his soul was leaving his body, made his breathing shallow and uneven, his mouth parched and his lips chapped. Despite the overwhelming thoughts of horror gnawing at his temples, he was simultaneously void of emotion and overflowing with it all at once. He was trapped in a nightmare that he prayed he’d wake up from, but no amount of pinching himself would force him back into the real world – he _was_ in the real world.

And it was terrifying.

He was seriously going to do it, wasn’t he? Someone in that bar was going to killed by his hand. As far as Bill was concerned, every human in the room was a cut of meat and Dipper was the butcher picking out who would be sent to the slaughter house next. No, no, _Dipper_ wasn’t a butcher. He was just a lamb among sheep, coerced by Bill into choosing one of his own kind to kill.

Gut churning in uncertainty, Dipper’s eyes dart around the room, Bill’s voice reverberating in his thoughts. The demon was still strictly constrained to the Mindscape, his physical form nothing more than a mere shadow or a misplaced whisper. Sometimes Dipper wasn’t sure if Bill was actually talking to him or not; perhaps it was his own mind’s creation.

Growing bored with Dipper’s hesitance, Bill urges, _Go on. Pick someone. How ‘bout blondie in the corner there?_

“Not her. Not someone innocent,” Dipper mutters under his breath, raising his arm up to his face so it looked like he was coughing into his shirt sleeve instead of talking to himself.

_No? Try that redhead, she’s far from innocent. You like redheads, don’t you?_

“It has to be someone I know _deserves_ it.”

_She totally deserves it! She’s drinking a martini without olives! That’s sick!_

Ignoring Bill’s deranged logic, Dipper scans around the room from patron to patron, watching, waiting for some sort of sign. Honing in on a honey-haired woman sitting at the bar by herself, he sighs. Despite there being plenty of people he could easily overpower, Dipper knows he couldn’t hurt someone that was seemingly innocent. He didn’t have time to get a full profile on every person he looked at – he had to make a split-second decision purely based on appearance.

Gazing at the freckled girl absentmindedly, he notices a man about ten years older than her, perhaps in his late thirties, hop up onto the stool next to hers. His hair was thinning, a premature bald spot forming on the top of his head.  The man was sickeningly sallow, with long, knobbly arms that seemed mismatched with his pudgy gut. His slicked-back brown hair looked unwashed, and his piercing, albeit intimidating, blue eyes seemed to hint at malintent. There was something off about his plastic smile that made Dipper shiver involuntarily.

The woman looked very visibly uncomfortable now, her body gestures and forced smile indicating that she wanted nothing to do with the stranger. Entranced by the scene that was now unfolding, Dipper walks towards the bar to take a seat a few spots down from the two, close enough to eavesdrop on the couple.

“Sorry, I’m not interested,” the girl politely declines, which the scumbag seems utterly offended by.

“Tch. Have it your way, you’re missing out, babe,” he replies, to which the woman scoffs and turns her back to him. What Dipper witnesses next, however, is what solidified who he would choose to murder. The sleazy man’s hand slips into his pocket and pulls out a small pill, then swiftly drops it into the inattentive woman’s drink. Dipper clenches his fists and grinds his teeth as he watches the pill dissolve, the man quietly waiting for it to finish.

_He’s the one._

_What’s wrong with the girl?_ Bill tuts. _Eh, he’ll do, I guess. Not the strongest soul by far, but ya can’t look a gift horse in the mouth._

Hopping off his seat, Dipper steps towards the two, and luckily it seems like neither of them had noticed his presence earlier.

 _Good start, Pine Tree,_ the demon praises, glad that Dipper is finally taking incentive. The unbearably jumpy and indecisive man evidently needed to be pulled along by the hand like a shy three year-old.

Dipper clasps his hand down on the pale man’s shoulder, to which he is greeted by a deer-in-the-headlights look, as if the stranger knew he had been caught doing something wrong.

“Hey, man. My car battery died and I really need a jump. Can you help me? It’ll take like two minutes. I’ll buy you a round of shots, dude!” Dipper hopes he doesn’t sound overly-friendly; he was forcing ignorance and it was taking every ounce of control in his body not to strangle the guy right then and there. The bastard stunk of cheap cologne, enough to make Dipper’s nose involuntarily scrunch up.

The hollow-eyed man grimaces at him, his lips twitching into a nasty smirk as he drawls, “Beat it, kid, can’t you see we’re busy here?”

“Please? It’ll only take a sec, I’ve even got jumper cables,” Dipper illustrates his point animatedly, “accidentally” knocking over the roofied drink with an eccentric swing of his arm. It shatters on the filthy bar floors, going relatively unnoticed due to the loud chattering and thumping, bass-heavy music that filled the dingy establishment. The cad glares daggers at Dipper, his shoulders stiffening in anger.

“Aw man, sorry, I’m such a klutz!” Dipper forces a nervous laugh, which wasn’t all that difficult considering he was actually pretty nervous. If this guy didn’t come with him, he was _so_ screwed.

Fishing a few loose dollars out of his pocket, he hands them to the confused girl.

“Go ahead and buy another drink, sorry for knocking yours over. And come on man, it’ll only take a second. I’ll pay you if I have to.” At this point Dipper realized he was talking pretty quickly. Did they notice he was acting suspicious? What if they caught on? Suddenly Dipper feels like every person in the room knew exactly what he was up to, like all eyes were on him.

Luckily, the only pair of eyes staring at him were the rather irritated ones belonging to a greasy-haired, ill-mannered man. With a groan, he rises wearily, the bar stool spinning behind him.

“Wait here, sweet cheeks,” he off-handedly mutters to the girl, flashing her a scummy sneer.

“This better be quick,” the man grumbles as he follows Dipper out the door, glancing to make sure the girl was still at the table.

“It will be, it totally will. Thanks man, seriously,” Dipper rolls his eyes as he forces out the gracious-sounding words. It was a good thing he was leading the way to his car, so his sacrifice couldn’t see his less-than-enthusiastic frown on his face. Pointing ahead, Dipper spins on his heel to turn around and look back at the guy, quickly forcing an expression other than pure hatred.

“My car’s the red one over there, so if you can park next to it we can get started! Thanks again, I know you were trying to hit on that girl, haha. Didn’t mean to be a buzzkill, but I need to get home to my sick grandma.”

Sick grandma? What sort of piss-poor excuse was that?

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. My car’s right here anyways, lucky you, saves me some time,” the annoyed stranger huffs under his breath, becoming increasingly irritated. As Dipper’s prey fiddles with flipping up the roof of his shiny sports car, Dipper strides over to the trunk of his ancient, inherited car, El Diablo.

Popping the trunk open, Dipper’s heart skips a beat as he stares down at the various tools he brought with him. Rope, duct tape, an axe, and a small suitcase containing a fragile glass vial of chloroform. Dipper knew he would have to be careful handling it if he didn’t want to accidentally have his weapon turned on him.

He quickly snatches up an old hand-towel from a pile of cloths lying haphazardly on the bed of the trunk. Saturating the rag with the noxious liquid, Dipper shakily folds the small piece of fabric into a neat square. Dipper knew it was cliche, but it must have worked with how frequently criminals used it in movies. Realizing he was about to become a criminal himself, he tries to disregard the goosebumps prickling under his skin. Grabbing the pair of jumper cables in his trunk, he shoves the damp rag into his back pocket and heads back over to the man.

“Alright, how about you hook these up to your battery while I go pop up my hood!” Dipper hands the cables to the clueless bar patron and begins to walk away from him. Lingering behind the gangly man for a few moments, Dipper holds his breath. Watching him bend over into the hood of his car, Dipper slides his hand into his pocket and pulls out the cloth. He hesitates, his pulse thrumming in his ears.

 _You’ll get old if you keep stalling like that, kid,_ Bill whispers.

Bill was right, as much as Dipper hated to admit it. It was now or never.

Dipper lunges at the lanky man before the other could react, wrapping his arms around him in a chokehold. He presses the rag over his victim’s nose and mouth, cringing when he realizes it barely suppresses his sounds of desperate struggle. Praying that nobody saw them, adrenaline courses through his veins while he chokes the pasty man tighter. Dipper tells himself it would end soon, that it would all be over within just a few seconds. Soon, the body grows limp against him, the older man’s sounds of strife dying down until he becomes dead weight, his head slumping to the side limply.

Dipper grows panicked over the knocked-out person lying in his arms. The unconscious man slides out of his grasp and into a crumpled heap on the ground. Tears prick at Dipper’s eyes, his thoughts running in an endless mantra of panic. _This is really happening, this is really happening, I’m about to murder a man, this is really happening._

 _Quit your whining, Pine Tree,_ Bill snaps. _Now tie him up so he doesn’t run when he wakes up. Get him into the woods, unless you want to do the next step here._

 _What if I get caught?_ Dipper asks silently, biting his nails fretfully.

_Ya won’t. Now hurry up._

A hollow feeling welling up in his gut, Dipper grabs the rope and duct tape from the trunk to tie his sacrifice up, working quickly to guarantee no one would catch him in the treacherous act. He still didn’t trust any of Bill’s promises. The fear of getting caught drove Dipper to work efficiently, despite what Bill said.

Hoping the bindings don’t come undone, he hoists the body into the backseat of his car, throwing a blanket over it. With a final nervous glance back at the bar, Dipper shuts the hoods of both cars before getting into the old Diablo, driving away from the accursed establishment as quickly as he could.

* * *

 

 _Now_ that _is a beautiful sight_ , Bill comments approvingly.

The still-bound, unconscious man lies in a circle crudely etched into the dirt. Thin, white candles surround the outline, while the hand axe Dipper often used for chopping up wood sat leaning against a tree. Dipper fiddled with a small pocket knife, waiting for the bound man to wake up.

Surrounded by towering redwoods, Dipper feels as though he was under judgement by a high council.

“I didn’t overdo it with the chloroform, did I?” Dipper whispers shakily. If he accidentally killed the guy, he’d have to start over with another person. After all, he had to carve the runes into the sacrifice while he was still _alive_ – that was crucial to the ritual. Nervously gripping the weapon, he sighs heavily. Dipper had to remind himself to breathe.

 _Relax, he’ll come around in twenty-three seconds,_ Bill drawls.

As predicted, Dipper’s victim slowly reawakens, his eyes looking a bit out of focus and droopy, but with a sudden jolt of realization the blue-eyed man begins to squirm and struggle, desperate muffled screams pouring through his gag. Hurriedly, Dipper begins to shush his noisy hostage, but when that method did nothing but aggravate the bound man further, Dipper turns to look back at Bill, silently asking for help with widened eyes and an expectant shrug.

The triangle only stares. _This is your job, kid. I can't even touch him._

Irritated by the demon’s utter lack of usefulness, Dipper crouches down and holds the pocket knife to the man’s blanched face, the tip of the blade pointed at his bulbous nose. Instantly, the victim falls silent. With violently shaking hands, Dipper leans over, his mouth dry as he spoke to the tied-up person.

“This is going to hurt. If you want it to hurt less, don’t move,” Dipper warns, his voice more stern than sympathetic. This man was a monster – a rapist. If Dipper wanted to get this terrible deed over with, he needed to remind himself that he was doing something _good._

He raises the knife just above the man’s wide forehead, a glint of moonlight reflecting off the tip of the blade. Taking deep breaths, Dipper slowly lowers the knife, inches from making contact with the pale, sickly flesh. Feeling his chest tighten in anticipation, Dipper catches the look of terror in the man’s dilated eyes; it looked like he knew better than to move or it would mean a deeper, less precise cut.

The man feared for his life just as much as Dipper did for his own.

 _Kill or be killed_ , Dipper reminds himself, _This is for your own survival. You have to do it._

Holding his breath, in part to avoid breathing in the growing stench of body odor mixing with cologne, Dipper realigns the knife, shuffling a bit to assure he was in the perfect position. This wasn’t even the most difficult thing he would have to do; it was just preparation for the ritual. It would be torturous, painful. Dipper wanted to be as humane as possible – he just wanted to put the sick bastard out of his misery quickly. Lowering the blade, Dipper shakes his head, now on the verge of tears.

“I c-can’t,” he shudders, his voice just above a whisper.

 _Sure you can; this is the fun part!_ Bill replies cheerily. Out of the corner of his eye, Dipper could see him hovering just over shoulder, rubbing his tiny palms together.

“No, no, I can’t, this is so fucked up,” Dipper murmurs, his voice frantic and trembling.

The victim's sunken eyes were wide with terror as the blade hovers precariously close to his skin. Confused and shaken, he couldn’t make sense of the situation; he couldn’t tell if this guy had a sick sense of vengeance or if he was simply a raving lunatic. Shifting against the ropes, he whimpers softly, praying for police or some form of divine intervention.

Bill observes Dipper’s squirming prey – _his_ prey – with sheer delight. Though the demon made himself visible to Dipper, the other was not aware of his existence, casting the illusion that Dipper was muttering to himself. Either way, he could tell that it unsettled the guy even more, and Bill was always happy to induce discomfort.

“Y-you were about to rape that girl, weren’t you?” Dipper asks. It was less of a question and more of a reconfirmation. If he was going to murder this man in cold blood, he had to remind himself of his reasoning, his motive. Reaching his hand into the scoundrel’s pocket, his eyes narrow at what he had found: more of the tiny pills, just like the one he had witnessed the sleazebag throw into the woman’s drink. He rolls one between two fingers, allowing the rest to slip out of his palm to be lost among the decaying leaves. Dipper’s rapidly darkening gaze flickers between the capsule and the pale-faced man, wordlessly letting him know the reason for his captivity before tossing the drug away. Rekindled with a newfound ferocity, Dipper leans in closer, ready to make the first cut.

Shaking fervently, the tied-up man utters a high-pitched squeal of protest. Sweat mixes with the dirt and grime he’s lying in, but he could care less about that in comparison to the knife over his forehead.

Disgusted by the outcry, Dipper finally makes the first incision, which is followed by a muffled screech. Thrashing about desperately, the creep was clearly panicked. Dipper had barely nicked him with the knife – it wasn’t even _that_ bad.

With one splayed out hand against his victim’s chest, Dipper pins him down to the forest floor, trying to keep him from squirming. What he had to carve into his flesh wasn’t particularly difficult or complex, but if the bastard kept wriggling around Dipper would never be able to draw a straight line.

At some point, he disconnects mentally. Dipper wasn’t carving runes and symbols into another man’s skin. No, it didn’t feel like that at all. The first incision had felt _good_ , satisfying in some twisted way. It wasn’t intentional. Dipper wasn’t even _trying_ to enjoy what he was doing, but as a self-defense mechanism, he was removing himself from the reality of the situation. Dipper focused on the drawings – not the blood – and on making sure he got it right so he wouldn’t have to do it again. The cuts he made felt a lot like dissecting a frog – it didn’t take a lot of pressure to cut the doughy man open. The knife did the work for him and he merely guided it.

 _This man is a monster_ , Dipper repeats like a mantra, first in his head but then out loud.

Leaning back to gauge his work, Dipper lets out a sigh. It was done, it was _simple_. A single eye encased by a triangle – Bill would probably think that it was _elegant._ Dipper glares at the rune, and it seems to stare back at him. A few trickles of blood from the wound slide down, looking like eyelashes.

Tears drip down the victim’s cheeks. As his assailant leans back, he finally catches sight of his eyes, and he wishes he never looked. Glazed-over, vacant pools stare at him emptily, revealing nothing. Those were the eyes of a man detached from society, detached from reality itself.

Dipper moves back in to finish his work. He drifts from his forehead, to his cheeks, to his neck, to his arms, to his chest (Dipper had to slice open his shirt), until finally the wretched man is marked with the magical symbols that would activate the spell.

 _Nice knife work, kid,_ Bill cheers. _Keep going._

Hesitantly, Dipper begins to whisper the incantations Bill had instructed him to use. They were in Latin, but luckily, Dipper had picked up more on the language throughout the years. He would have never imagined using it for _this_.

“ _Caro de carne vestro_ _–_ _”_

 _It’s vestra,_ Bill cuts in.

Dipper figured he wouldn’t get it right on the first try. Restarting the entire spell, he makes another attempt, trying not to feel discouraged.

“ _Caro de carne vestra in vas, animam pro anima, ad te detent_ _–_ ”

Detinet! Detent _does the opposite, idiot!_

“I’m doing the best I can!” Dipper snaps back, restarting the incantation with a hint of frustration in his tone. Somehow, it seemed Dipper’s negative feelings only added fuel to the fire, making the magic stronger, more potent.

“ _Caro de carne vestra in vas, animam pro anima, ad te detinet. Ipsam terram tuam regiam, exaudi orationem meam, et appareat_!”

The incisions began to glow a pallid gold, which made the cut-up man panic further as he finally realizes that he was an offering for something unholy. The dull orange flames of the candles flare into pillars of gold, their fires strong in the still night air.

“Now all I have to do is…” Dipper trails off, not daring to finish his sentence. All that was left to do was end the pathetic man’s life. Carving runes into skin was one thing; wounds could always heal. Death, however, was irreversible, not just for the victim but for Dipper himself. He would never be able to apologize for it, never be able to repent. Even if no one ever found out, he’d have to live with the horror of his crime for the rest of his life.

_Will ya hurry up, Pine Tree? This isn’t an ethics classroom._

Dipper remains unmoving. Bill wasn’t the one that had to kill a man – he was just watching! On the other hand, Dipper knew the spell must have been time-sensitive in some fashion. He had to act quickly.

 _Do you really need a reason? You saw what he was trying to do to that girl,_ Bill reminds him. _And sure, she got off lucky, but what about the others?”_

Dipper stiffens. _Others?_

Pleased that he was finally eliciting _some_ form of a reaction, Bill continues. _Yep, there were plenty of others! Here, I’ll even give you a detailed record of every girl he’s forced into sex. Allison Henderson, age nineteen, brunet, studies communication in Portland. Beckie Smallfield, age seventeen, volunteers at an animal shelter and takes care of her younger siblings. Daisy Anders, age twenty-one, waitress at a diner, now a single mother._

Bill rambles on with a list that Dipper thought was far longer than it should have been.

When the demon mentions the name of a barista Dipper was acquainted with, he decided he had enough evidence to justify his upcoming crime.

Grabbing the axe from the tree it was resting against, he storms back towards the man without a glimpse of remorse in his eyes. This man was a monster. Dipper wasn’t doing this for Bill anymore – he was doing it for those girls. Clutching onto the axe so tightly that his knuckles turned white, he brings the weapon over his head, a stone-cold expression on his features. Nothing but pure wrath radiates from his being, nothing else mattered but avenging the girls that had fallen victim to the gruesome man.

As the weakened victim watches his assailant advance, the realization of his fate dawns upon him, and he musters up the last of his energy to let out a final, agitated wail in the futile hope of being heard by someone, _anyone_ , who could possibly wrench him out of this mess. He’s praying to every deity out there, his chest convulsing from ragged heaves from his frenzy. A wild part of his mind clings to the hope that this was all a ghastly nightmare.

Bringing the axe down as if he were chopping lumber, Dipper ends it all in one, swift downwards strike.

Dropping the axe, Dipper falls to his knees.

He decapitated the man.

He couldn’t do more than stare at the beheaded man with his jaw hanging open. He couldn’t even _feel_ anything, not because he didn’t want to, but because he physically _could not_. It didn’t even feel like he was in his body, in fact, he felt very similarly to the ghostly form he had taken on when Bill possessed him all those years ago. Dipper was merely watching himself from the outside, the world around him masked in a thick haze. He could feel his upper arms spasm slightly, a result of the overexertion of his outburst.

“See? I knew you could do it!” Bill interrupts his thoughts, a hint of pride in his voice. Without warning, a warm shudder runs through his triangular form as the final effects of the spell take hold. Excited, he drifts down to place his hand on Dipper’s shoulder, who immediately flinches and whirls around, pale-faced. Bill had never been able to touch him in the physical plane before.

“It’s already working. You did a good job,” Bill continues with his praise, his voice clearly audible in more than just Dipper’s mind. “Now you have to get rid of the body. Chop, chop, kid!”

Dipper doesn't move. He emptily stares at Bill, his eyes clearly glassy at this point. He looks ragged, his clothes spattered with blood and coated with a layer of grime from the forest floor. Despite the firm orders, he remains paralyzed, unable to force himself to move.

“No, literally. This body ain’t gonna chop up itself.”

Tears roll down Dipper’s cheeks, but only two; he found himself physically incapable to shed any more, despite a desperate desire to cry out his emotions. Curling in on himself, he sobs silently, his gasps muffled. Running his hands through his hair, he tugs at his brown locks, trying to comprehend what he had just done. It happened so quickly, and he only drew blanks when he tried to recall how he had gotten to where he currently was. As he raises his head to look back up at the lifeless corpse, he grows instantly nauseous, more at himself than at the sight.

Crawling away from the scene, Dipper retches up the entire contents of his stomach with a sickening splat against the forest leaves. Choking on his vomit and tears, he coughs up the remaining upheave, wiping his mouth against his sleeve shakily. Bill seemed less than amused by Dipper at this point.

“I told you fast food was a bad idea,” Bill remarks, unimpressed with the show Dipper was putting on. He remained still in the air, watching Dipper without blinking the entire time.

“This is why you listen to me. Now quit wasting time and go take care of the body,” his words take on a darker, foreboding ring.

“I c-can’t, I can’t do it, I can’t,” Dipper whimpers, tears beginning to well up in his eyes again, “Isn’t m-mutilating him enough? We’re in the woods, nobody will find him, he’ll rot, an animal will eat him, y-yeah, it’ll be fine! The ritual is over.” Frantic and desperate, his chest heaves up and down as he tries to pacify himself. Bill wouldn’t make him chop up the body, he didn’t have to chop up the body, right? Nobody would find it, it would decompose, things would be _okay_. Hyperventilating, Dipper tries not to scream in terror over what he had done.

“I like a thorough job, kid.” Using his body as a projector, Bill flashes a series of images from a hypothetical yet ominously realistic future. Dipper watches himself fleeing the authorities, camping out in treacherous woods in fear, his name and face on every news source. Court summons with a weak defense on his side, no sign of his family, the crippling loneliness of solitary confinement.

The death sentence.

“No, no, _no_ ,” Dipper shakes his head and reaches out for Bill, grabbing him by his sides, still taken aback that he could actually touch him, “This isn’t _really_ the future, is it? You’re messing with me,” Dipper’s eyes widen, a delirious smile twitching on his lip.

“I can see the outcome of every possible future, that one being the most probable if you don’t do as I tell you to!” Bill swats Dipper’s arms away, and motions towards the axe. “Finish what you started.”

Dipper follows the motion of Bill’s hand, looking over at the axe. Staring at it in horror, Dipper bends down to pick it up, dragging it over to the deceased man. Looming over the body, he pauses. He brings the axe down for the first time, cringing as more blood splatters onto his jeans and shirt. He sobs with a pained moan as he forces himself to bring it down for a second time, a third time, a fourth time.

At some point he had lost count.

The corpse had been reduced to an indistinguishable pile of flesh. Bill told him the body needed to be mutilated beyond recognition. Dipper did as he was told. The gruesome details remained in his head – no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to shut his eyes or look away. The feeling of hammering through the chest cavity and how hard it was to penetrate, the sickening sounds of flesh and bone beneath his axe. The blood all over his hands, his face, his body. The smell of the rotting organs spilling out of his ripped stomach like the worms that would eventually devour them, the stench of iron so prevalent in his nostrils that he could taste it on his tongue. Bones crack and stick out at gruesome angles, marrow seeping out of the cracks. And his face – his face was a smear, an amalgamation of different shades of red and pink, shards of skull peppering the mix. The mutilated body made Dipper sick, but he could barely feel the nausea at this point, let alone anything else for that matter.

All he knew is that he would never be the same.

“I’m done. Leave me alone, please,” Dipper pleads in defeat, the demon looming over his shoulder, taking in his handiwork. All that was left was shoving the various body parts into a bag and disposing of them however Bill saw fit.

“Aww, Dipper, don’t you enjoy my company?” Bill teases, placing his hand on Dipper’s shoulder again. The sheer delight of interacting with the physical world brought him more excitement than anything had in years. “We’re far from done here; I’d say you better get used to me.”

Dipper shudders from the pressure on his arm; part of him was distraught from the very idea of Bill being near him. And yet, a small part of him almost felt comforted by the touch.

“What do you mean? I killed him and you’re _clearly_ physical now. A life for a life right? You saved mine and I gave you his!” Dipper argues, clenching his fists defiantly. What the hell was Bill playing at?

“I can’t do more than poke your nose, Pine Tree – I can’t even pinch it yet! That’s far from ‘done’ if you ask me,” the demon huffs. “I never specifically asked for _a_ life. I saved your life – and now you owe the rest of it to me, for as long as it lasts.”

“I don’t belong to you!” Dipper hisses, backing away from the demon. It was immediately clear to him that was the _wrong_ thing to say to Bill.

Bill bursts into unnerving, manic laughter. “Why, kid, that might just be the funniest thing I’ve heard all day!”

Closing the distance between them, Bill grabs Dipper’s chin, wrenching his head to force him into eye contact. His voice turns into a low, grating rumble.

“Forget your freedom – you _belong_ to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Andouilles generally writes Dipper's parts and Alopex generally writes Bill's parts.


End file.
